My toe catches him under the chin, snapping his head back and knocking him to the ground again. He’s unconscious. I drop to one knee, grab his head between my hands, and with a sharp twist, break his neck... ending his life.
It took less than five minutes.
I stand, blood and dirt coating my hands and legs with a grimy red paste, and look at my handiwork in a detached, analytical kind of way. He was probably a capable fighter, but for every other pack member, this ring is about clearing up disputes. Working out aggression. There’s showmanship, because the fight is as much about making the other person think twice about future confrontations as it is about solving the current one.
They’ve never had to fight for their lives.
What brings me back to myself is the ear-piercing wails of his wife and daughter, as they rush to the body that used to house their loved one.
“Papa. Papa, please wake up,” his daughter cries, shaking his shoulder.
His wife collapses on top of the body, whispering denials in a constant loop.
I shiver, cold setting in as adrenaline drains from my body, and I take in the crowd. Some are angry. Some are terrified. I’ve won, and they don’t know what to do with themselves.
Sam stares at me from across the ring, tears dripping down her face. Her blue eyes speak volumes. She doesn’t blame me. She never does. But there’s disappointment. Lives lost because I won’t choose pack first. Because I wouldn’t choose her.
The Alpha barks out orders to the twins to handle the body, the crowd, and begin preparations for a funeral pyre. Burying our dead leaves bodies to be found. Once everyone is moving, he glares at me and makes a jerk of his head to indicate I’m to follow him.
Sighing, I pick up my flannel and jacket off the ground, not caring that I’m getting blood on them. It may not be my blood now, but soon it will be.
~*~
“Drink it,” the Alpha commands, handing me a shot glass filled with water and granules of white crystals resting on the bottom.
The entire house has been cleared, the only guards on duty blocking the stairs, and he’s marched me to a familiar room in the back. With tools on the walls and a single chair, it’s obvious what this room is for.
Standing near the only window in the room, I hold the clear glass to the light. The crystals go from white to black, and the water begins to turn a muddy brown. Silver nitrate.
My wolf fights against what we’ve been asked to do, but if I don’t, the Alpha will know that he no longer controls me through the bond. After years of being shunned by the pack, of never calling on his power to strengthen me, in addition to the tenuous ties I have to this community means its leader has almost no control over me. At least in a magical sense.
Resigned, I swallow it quickly, the solution burning everything it touches. I collapse onto the hardwood floor, coughing and choking, blood already starting to drip from my mouth and follow the path of old stains.
“Think you’re fucking tough!” he shouts with several powerful kicks to my gut in rapid succession. “Think you’re more important than the pack?”
I don’t answer, because it doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop or alter what happens in this room.
It feels like acid is coating my insides, and it’s hard to breathe. Gagging, I climb back to my hands and knees. Sweat coats my skin and all of my strength is gone, my limbs shaking trying to brace me.
“You keep that shit down,” he snarls, grabbing my hair and pulling my head up at an angle so I can see his furious expression. “I lost a wolf today, because you have a hard-on for a fucking witch. You’re going to feel this.”
I cough, and blood splatters his dark green shirt. He looks at me with disgust right before slamming my head against the wall.
Black dots dance around the edges of my vision, and I just lie there. There’s a high pitched whine. I can’t tell if it’s from outside or inside my own head, and it feels like the trees that hold this house up are turning in fast, nauseating circles.
My wolf is quiet, too sick and weak to help me. Probably better this way. I don’t know if I could stop the shift, and attacking the Alpha now would ruin everything.
“Get up!” he growls, while pulling a whip from the wall. A whip that I know from personal experience has silver at the tip. “On your knees!”
With a groan, I roll back over, but I’m too weak to hold myself up and fall on my face.
He again grabs me by the hair, and with frustrated grunts, attempts to drag me toward the chair bolted to the ground. I scramble to try and help, my scalp burning as he rips chunks of hair from my head.
Wheezing, I pitch myself up onto my knees while my upper half collapses on the seat of the chair, my naked back exposed to the Alpha. Within moments there’s the white hot pain of whip meeting flesh.
“Stubborn piece of shit,” he mutters, then cracks the whip over my back again. “Do your friends know how easily you can end someone’s life? Huh?”
With weak fingers, I grip the sides of the chair and do my best to swallow my gasp of pain as it hits me again. My throat already feels like I’ve swallowed fire-- each sound, cough, and labored breath its own brand of torment.
